Author's note: "The Brass Statuettes" is a sequel to a short story that I wrote some time ago, "The Saga of Trudy and Frank". You can read and enjoy this story without having read the forerunner. If you do you'll understand this one much better.
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Prologue
man reaches out, grasping the final, sharp-cornered stone with bleeding hands and fingers. Exhausted, urging forth his last reserve of strength, willing himself up and over the final obstacle, he pulls his weary legs under him, thrusts up the aching body, pressing skyward. A hot, dry wind stings across his face—he does not care. He surveys what he has conquered: the view of the ground below, the spent bodies of competitors, impaled on lower tiers along the way, and those few sharing the view with him. He has struggled to the top of the pyramid, realizing his dreams and promise.
He is exhilarated, yet a little bit self-conscious. As he can see all from his lofty perch, so too, can he be observed. He straightens himself, adjusting his appearance in every way, for whatever is seen says something of him. All must know why he has risen so high and why they should wish to be like him. That applies to his possessions. House, car, clothing, golf clubs, and desk spell out the details of his tastes, his standards, his desires.
His wife is his most important possession. He is the Alpha Male; they are the Alpha Pair. She must be beautiful, young and nubile. Of course, she will be intelligent and cultured. Above all, she is discreet, if not loyal. She runs in the pack with the other wives, blending in and at the same time standing out in accordance with the status of her mate. She is decorator and decoration. It is her duty to do what she must to defy time, age and over-indulgence. In return, she is granted security, luxury and a curious power.
There are such women nearby every boardroom and headquarters. They seek out, and are sought. Adorned with diplomas in Art History and French Literature; denizens of spas, salons and private gyms; they are perfect hostesses and skillful guests. They share their men's beds and secrets. They share their fortunes, too—and are well-versed in the proper use of money for pleasure and power. They are the Trophy Wives—Brass Statuettes on a walnut base.
pter 1—Watering the Garden
Juana Hernandez stood in the hallway, not far from the French doors that opened to the veranda. Although the summer afternoon was a hot one, she wore her grey, cotton maid's shift with the black trim and white buttons. She was a professional—never lowering her standards for anyone or any reason. The hot, Texas afternoon sun was reality, and her maid's attire was part of her standards. The Señora of the house was on the veranda with her friends. From her position in the hallway Juana was able to hear her mistress' summons without eavesdropping.
She looked out a spotless pane. Her husband, José, worked in the garden. She wondered if the hot sun was too much for him. He bent to his work in the garden under his wide-brimmed straw hat. He kept his pace constant, neither allowing the heat to dog him, nor hurrying to complete his work more quickly to avoid exposure. His copper skin was cracked and leathered from decades of afternoons toiling in the Texas sun. Juana and José had served the house for nearly thirty years. They lived in a small cottage on the edge of the grounds. To some, it may have seemed like a humble existence. To them it was their place in the world, sus puestos.
The house had changed hands a number of times in the three decades of their service. The new owners always chose to ask Juana and José to stay on after the change of title. It was a large house with spacious rolling grounds in the Texas style. Each family taking up residence in the palace was a little different—but the same in the important ways. They were always members of the corporate aristocracy—in chemicals or oil, or perhaps banking. Juana and José served the house, not the owners. Their obedience to them was just a part of their duties to the house.
Juana chose not to get to know the residents too well. They were, after all, just one in a line of succession. When they left there would be a new family and the house would still remain. By not knowing them she could avoid both judging and forgiving them. Wealth was always accompanied by more vice than virtue. It was a discipline instilled in her long ago. The younger maids, who came in from the city part time to assist her, didn't quite understand the rule. They gossiped and giggled in their group until Juana heard them. She chastised them in Spanish, so that the mistress could not understand, and the young girls would go back to their cleaning and polishing.
"Juana! Bring some more iced tea." She heard her mistress' command, louder than was necessary. That had to mean that the hot, afternoon sun, coupled with the iced tea laced with vodka, were having the predictable effects on her mistress and her friends.
"Si, Señora Warner," she yelled back with a sigh, rolling her eyes. Juana knew immediately that she had erred in allowing the inflection in her voice to betray her attitude.
"Bring more mint leaves, too," she heard the Señora call after her as she turned for the kitchen. "And be quick about it."
She already had a fresh pitcher of iced tea ready in the refrigerator, and fresh mint leaves in a jar. She also thought to bring more ice and a set of clean glasses, though not specifically asked to do so. She was a professional, after all.
Juana returned with her trayful of supplies. "I wose teenking dat chu would be niding more ice, too, Señora," Juana declared in her Mexican accent as she stepped onto the veranda. "And, 'eer are some clin glasses."
"Fine, Juana," her mistress acknowledged. "Just set it all over there on the bar."
"Weel dee Señora take a nap before dee dee-nair?" the servant inquired.
"No!" the mistress snapped back. "That will be all, Juana. You can leave us now."
Juana shuffled away. She nearly shook her head in sadness, but held back. It would have been, after all, an act of judgment to do so, and that would have presumed closeness that she was determined to avoid.
"¡Es borracha, otra vez!" she said silently. "¡Ah, Señor Alvin; el povrecito!"
She returned to her windows, out of sight of the women seated around the circular table on the veranda.
"That maid of yours has some kind of attitude, Gloria," Juana heard one of them say.
"She acts likes she's the queen of the house," another added.
"I know, I know," Gloria sighed. "If it were up to me I'd have fired them both long ago. But, Alvin likes them; what can I do?"
"Don't let her get under your skin, Gloria."
"That's good advice, Brenda. Now, be a dear and pour me a glassful of that special iced tea."
"Sure thing, Gloria. Anyone else?" Brenda asked as she rose from the table. The two other women held up their own empty glasses, shaking them.
Brenda dropped the ice and mint leaves into the bottom of the clean set of glasses. She poured in the vodka and tea and set the full glasses on the tray that Juana left and placed it in the middle of the large table. Each woman took a glass and eased back into their chairs.
"You did that without spilling a drop, Brenda," Ashley joked. "You must've fallen behind us in your drinking."
"Practice and training," Brenda replied. "I can be totally soused and carry a tray of food or drinks anywhere. It's a skill that often comes in handy."
"It was a lovely dinna' pahty Friday night, Gloria." Darlene, the most youthful of the quartet said in her Georgia accent. She hadn't quite been able to lose it, regardless how hard she tried. "It was all so perfect."
"Careful—accent," Gloria admonished the young woman.
"Oh, you're so right, Gloria. I do need to shed this way of talkin'. Sometimes I slip when I've had a drink or two. But the fact remains; I did so enjoy the party."
"When you've had a few drinks is when you need to remember it most," Gloria said. "I know it's hard. It was hard for me when I moved here from Dallas."
"It was your first, wasn't it?" Ashley said, already knowing the answer.
"Well, Ah just loved it!" Darlene replied. "All the beautiful gowns, the lights, the music; it was all so grand!" she gushed.
